


photograph

by decidingdolan



Series: your words (my songs) [7]
Category: Sing Street (2016)
Genre: M/M, a phone call from McKenna, based on a instagram post by Ferdia, stupid hidden feelings and tight-lipped boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidingdolan/pseuds/decidingdolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he misses you, you piece of shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	photograph

**Author's Note:**

> again, I'm blaming all of this on this instagram post:
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/BJxBmsugauy/?taken-by=ferdiawalshpeelo
> 
> and Thai traffic heading into Bangkok on a rainy Wednesday.
> 
> #WrittenEntirelyOniPhoneSE

  

_"Everywhere I miss you."_

_\--Anaïs Nin, from a[letter](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FLiterate-Passion-Letters-Miller-1932-1953%2Fdp%2F015652791X&t=YTczNGYxNTMyMjMzN2QxYWQwNDE4YWE4YjBmYmI3NGY2NTAyN2E1NyxlSXBSY1hUSg%3D%3D) to Henry Miller featured in A Literate Passion: Letters Of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller (1932 - 1953)_

 

* * *

 

Your phone rang. And you picked up without checking the caller.

Of course, it was him.

Who else.

"Could've been harsher the next time you post," the deep voice that was Mark McKenna spoke through the line, his pronunciation of the phrase clearer and more eloquent than he'd treated others, "You piece of shit."

You smiled, threw yourself down on the bed. "Hey," you said, bright, deliberate, "You do miss me too."

You heard a chuckle at the other end. And you're imagining him, legs stretched along his sofa, hand brushing hair from his face.

"Hey yourself."

You shook your head, lips twisted into a smirk. "Can't," you said, eyeing the guitar at the corner of the room, "You already did."

A huff. Deep breaths.

Come over here, if you're that exasperated of me, you thought. Come get me, McKenna, why don't you.

Like you said you would.

"You're really going all the way with the push up thing, huh," he spoke again, and you're seeing the room, brighter than before.

Why him. Why this effect on you. You've no idea.

You blinked, hand squeezed your phone tighter, "It's for charity. You should try some."

"Nah," Mark's reply was accompanied by a random string of notes from his guitar. Probably in his dorm now, short stuff. Guitar on his lap and music sheets on the bed. Lights on, digital clock on the bedside blinking red. "School and the band's eating up my time."

"I see," you leaned back against the wall, your free hand picking at the fabric on the mattress. "If it's too much, just say it straight, old man."

Mark's laughter filled your ears, mellow bass. You'd missed his laughs. You'd missed his voice. You'd missed him.

McKenna, with his droopy eyes and perpetual hatred of the morning sun. McKenna, with his red and black patterned shirts and light blue reflective sunglasses. McKenna, with his rooted love for Jack Garratt, the Strokes, and the British indie scene.

McKenna, lean fingers on the guitar strings and a guitar pick in his mouth. McKenna, mumbles under his breath that made sense to no one but him and you. McKenna, Oxford Doc Martens and a voice that blended crazy well with yours. McKenna, pale skin and thin lips that rarely reveal a smile. McKenna, left earring and Justin Maller birds tattooed on his right arm.

McKenna, always off doing his own things and claiming his (official) titles as the God of guitars and parkour.

Silence. A finger scratched the protective cover of your phone. You're trying to sketch his face. You wondered if he ever blushed. You bit your lip, waited, and checked your watch.

"Cheeky," Mark said, at last, "Think you're all that young. Go back to school, Ferds."

A hard ball. He's tossed you one. Either he was blushing during that time, or he's just reminded of an assignment due the next morning.

You rolled your eyes, grabbed onto a pillow. "Never," you retorted, determined, "Life's too fun to quit right now. To stay safe, like you."

Could sense his frown from where you were.

"Whatever you say, superstar," he continued. That sweet love of his, typical Mark. Markasm. To be spoken to in his tongue of sarcasm was to be included in his love. "Vikings' only going for so long."

You grinned, pressed the phone closer to your ear, as if you could hear him better, "So you knew."

"I saw," he said, "Killings and blood splatters have changed you, m'lad."

Teasing.

You missed him, goddamn it. You'd said it, posted it, confessed it. Put a heart on it. A heart, pulsing and red. You missed him.

"Come over," you're saying before you could stop yourself, "It's different without you."

There's a click. Probably his tongue. Sounds of paper ruffling. Something sharp fell on the floor. His cursing. And Mark was back on the line.

"Dublin's different," he mused, tone light, "Weather's not as shitty."

A pause. You sucked in a breath. He's choosing his words.

"Maybe because you're not here."

Bingo.

You wanted to drop the phone and disappear. To wherever he was.

Could've been a pub, for all you knew. You could've been wrong.

"Miss you, McKenna," you said, chewing on your lip. Your guitar's smiling at you, and you're pretty certain it's your hallucination, but he called. He noticed. You spoke. You're hearing his voice.

It's the little things.

He took a breath. "I know, Ferds."

"Likewise."

**Author's Note:**

> The usual:
> 
> I respect them, very much, so please let's be on the same page and be understanding when I say this: These are complete FICTIONALIZED versions of Ferdia and Mark in my head. We've no idea how they actually are as persons. The interactions, the exchanges, the thoughts are all imagined and made up. Treat them as imaginary Ferdia and Mark, with their exact likenesses and mannerisms, interacting. For all we know, we know nothing.
> 
> Thank you so much for stopping by, reading, and reviewing!  
> x


End file.
